Paris Falls
It could be fair to move through in reticence,
keep the air, like the dream , suspended;
caught in a welling eye, an un-succinct pool to dive
your heart - whole and ecstatic in your gasp,
watching the second hands static,
watching the light before the grasp of projection.
It could be right to keep your sight a trance;
movement of colour as fast as coffee cups;
trains stations and cathedral arches both sweet for quick kisses.
The day's sun is on your tongue;
swallow and the river runs through you, runs through you,
runs through you....
the pulse in perfection, gone.
It could be love, the long unravelling to the end;
streets backed up with voices, like an aging cinema.
Distant, the date is divine or an arrow shot in the eye,
looking at the end of direction, but never beyond.
Moving through the city,
a novel is written
whilst throwing oranges on a bus.
Marianne Louise Daniels
Thu 10th Oct 2013 08:50
Thank you Tommy.
I am glad you thought of Godard. I am pretty chuffed with that for I am a fan!